


Tales of the Storm

by KikiTwinTai2



Series: Family is the best cure [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, Mix of human and country names, Post-Kalmar Union feels, which is probably bad for a history major but oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:57:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22335181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KikiTwinTai2/pseuds/KikiTwinTai2
Summary: As a storm rages outside, Norway comforts his colonies with tales of the gods. Post-Kalmar Union, includes Greenland and Faroes.
Series: Family is the best cure [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607725
Kudos: 17





	Tales of the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of a mess, but I can't be bothered rewriting the whole thing. Enjoy. Also the list of gods is taken from the Runemark series by Joanne Harris, which I totally recommend. Narrated by Loki, 'nuff said.

Thunder crashed outside, raging around the strong walls of the castle. Inside, the sounds of the storm were faint, masked by the thick stone and sounds of revelry. Men sat at long wooden benches, most clutching huge mugs of mead and ale, the tables groaning with the weight of the food lying on silver platters.

Lukas looked around the hall with faint disdain. He was never one for parties, and found no pleasure in the drinking games and drunken merriment currently in front of him. To his right, the host, Matthias, was holding a mug at a dangerous angle, his arm swinging wildly as he relayed the tale of some victorious feat.

Not that there was much to celebrate at the moment. The entryway of the great hall still seemed to ring with the echo of angry words as the union dissolved around them all. Lukas had spent a long night huddled far away from the screaming and clashing of weapons, trying desperately to comfort the children.

He had gone upstairs to the sound of fighting. He had come back down to an empty hall, save for Matthias lying crushed by his defeat, and no sign of Berwald but an empty door still hanging open, and the scent of blood in the air.

The Kalmar Union was over.

In the days that followed, Matthias had thrown himself into work, planning battles and strategies and trying to consolidate what power remained to him, working alongside his king to try and brush off the defeat, to prove to himself and the world that Denmark was still a dominant force in Europe, one that no Lion of the North could best.

He had had little thought of Norway, and of their still-dependant colonies. The task of caring for little Iceland, Faroe and Greenland had fallen to him, relegated to caretaker as just another vassal.

Another crash of thunder sounded outside, louder than the rest. Most of the men seemed not to notice. Too drunk in their cups to care about the storm raging outside, their senses were dulled by the alcohol and stifling atmosphere of the room, made too warm by the roaring fires spaced out along the walls in deep depressions. Many also had huge roasts turning slowly on spits above them, trophies caught and killed by the hunting parties the nobles were so fond of. Matthias, as their country, was no exception, and a good many of the heads lining the walls had been put there by the blow of his own axe.

Lukas had had enough. Taking one last look around the room, his lip curled in disgust. He slammed his chair back and rose gracefully to his feet, then leaned over to tug at Matthias’ hair to get his attention. The tall Dane turned to look at him, surprised.

“I’m going to check on the children,” he said.

Matthias, if he even heard him, didn’t seem to care, and waved him away dismissively. Lukas kept down the biting words that rose in his throat, and made his way past the rows of tables. Some of the men jeered, making motions for him to stay, but he ignored them, turning rapidly on his heel and stalking out of the hall.

Once out of the great hall, the cold of the castle became apparent, the wind howling through the narrow windows. Snow whirled furiously outside, the lightning flashing haphazardly on the snow piled up in huge drifts against the walls.

Lukas gave a brief look behind him. Seeing no-one, he broke into a run, his long robe flying out as he ran down the long corridor. He made his way up the stairs, not needing a candle to guide his way. After a few minutes, he reached a strong wooden door, and flung it open, rushing over to the large bed in the centre of the room. Two small figures were huddled in the mess of furs, whimpering with their hands pressed tightly against their ears. Their faces were covered in tears, small eyes squeezed shut and their bodies flinching and shaking. On the other side of the room, cries came from a cot standing in the corner. Lukas hurried over, picking the child up and shushing them.

Carrying the child over to the others, Lukas drew them all into his arms. Feeling their brother’s touch, the children sobbed in relief. Iceland was the first to speak.

“Brother!” he cried. Lukas shushed him, murmuring senseless words of comfort and reassurance. He glared over the children’s shoulders, furious that Matthias thought more of his comrades and drinking than the nations he was supposed to be in charge of.

“It’s alright, Lillebrør. I’m here now. You’re safe.”

He began singing in a soft voice, rocking them slowly. The children’ sobs gradually quietened down as Lukas held them, and, one by one, they relaxed, their eyes drooping. He picked Greenland up, carrying her over to her own bed on the other side of the room, then did the same with little Faroe, placing the toddler back in her cot and tucking the furs tightly around her. Lastly, he returned to Emil, kissing his forehead and smoothing his hair in the same way he had the others.

“Sleep now, little brothers. I’ll be here.”

A knock sounded at the door. Lukas looked over dispassionately to see Matthias slip into the room. He walked over to Lukas, seeing the children now sleeping soundly.

“Are they alright?” Matthias asked quietly.

“No thanks to you.” Lukas’ voice was quiet, but deadly cold. To his credit, Matthias looked suitably apologetic, but Lukas wasn’t about to accept the apology.

“Perhaps if you cared more about those still with you than the drunken lackeys trying to drink themselves to Valhalla, I could have been up here earlier.”

Matthias frowned. “I have to be with the men, Lukas, you know that.”

Lukas didn’t look impressed. “And what am I then? A trophy? Something to parade around in front of your men as a symbol of what little power you have left?” His eyes flashed with fury. “I am not a prize, _Denmark_.”

Matthias’ eyes matched his anger. “I do not treat you as such, nor have I ever. You and the children are the most precious things to me, you know that. Or is it not enough that the host has left his own celebration to come here!” his voice rose in anger, making Iceland stir. His eyes fluttered, making Lukas tighten his hold on him, shushing him.

“Go then.” He turned back to the child in his arms, shutting out the Dane.

Matthias looked like he would retort, but simply glared at Lukas. Turning on his heel, he stalked out of the door, slamming it behind him. The noise made Faroe cry out again, and Lukas hurried over to her for the second time, picking her up and shushing her. He paced slowly back and forth with the toddler in his arms, rocking her to sleep again.

Iceland’s voice broke the silence.

“Brør. Does Danmark hate us?”

Lukas whirled round to face him, his face horrified.

“No! Of course not. He simply has more important matters to attend to.” He couldn’t stop a sour twist in the words.

“Oh.” Iceland’s face twisted in confusion. “Are we not important to him?” He looked on the edge of tears.

Lukas sighed. Walking over to the bed, he sat down carefully, mindful of the now-sleeping Faroe in his arms. Not wanting to be left out, Greenland, who had also woken up with the noise, came padding over. Lukas made room for them all, motioning for Iceland to tuck the fur covers around them. Once they were settled, he explained.

“Danmark does not mean to snap. He loves you all, you know that. He was very angry when Sweden and Finland left, and he is still very sad. But he still cares for you very much.” _Even if it is only for the power he still holds over all of us. Not for much longer._

“Oh.” Iceland thought for a moment. “What if they came back? Then Danmark wouldn’t be mad any more, would he?”

Lukas smiled thinly. “As nice as that would be, Emil, it is not going to happen.”

Emil’s face fell. “I-I know. I just want us to all be together again. I don’t like war. Everyone always yells and you and Danmark come back hurt and we have to stay here. I don’t like waiting and not knowing what’s going to happen. I have to be strong and take care of Kala and Frida when you aren’t here, but I don’t know what to do and the storm was really loud and scary and you weren’t here!”

Lukas shushed him. “I know. I’m sorry, Lillebrør. I came up as quickly as I could. I’m sorry.” His face softened.

“But you know the storm isn’t anything to be scared of. It’s just Thor, showing off his power.”

“Like Danmark?” Iceland asked.

Lukas couldn’t help smiling at the childish nation’s innocence.

“Exactly like Danmark,” he agreed.

“Come close.”

Iceland obediently snuggled up to him. Gently, Lukas lay down, settling Faroe in his arms. He stroked her hair gently while he spoke. The children settled into him, Emil on one side, Kala on the other. He began to speak softly.

“Long, long ago, even before any of us were born, the world was created by the Allfather, Odin. His sons and daughters were given many powers, but it was his strongest son, Thor, who was given the greatest gift. The mighty hammer, Mjølnir. When Thor wielded this weapon, the strength was so great that its swing created great winds, and when he lifted it to the heavens, it summoned lightning and thunder. That is what the storm outside is. Thor is fighting the frost giants, their eternal enemies. He fights to keep us safe. It is nothing to be scared of.”

The children’s eyes were wide. As one, they looked towards the window, still battered by the howling winds and snow. It was Kala who spoke first.

“Can we be as strong as Thor, brother?”

Lukas smiled absently, nodding. “One day, you surely will be.”

The children looked at each other in wonder. Lukas continued listing the gods in a soft voice, telling them tales of the trickster Loki, gentle Baldur, Skadi the huntress, Sif with her hair of golden silk, and all the others. He kept the quiet, lilting tone until long after they were asleep again, their little hands tangled softly in his robes, their breathing deep and even. 

He rose slowly, careful not to wake them. Rather than disturb Faroe, he placed her gently down between Iceland and Greenland, allowing the children to curl up together. He smiled at the sight of the three of them, Emil and Kala both with a protective arm over little Frida. Walking over to the window, he made sure the shutters were closed tightly. He then went over to the fireplace, banking the embers to ensure no wayward spark escaped during the night. Once he was done, he walked over to the door, going through and closing it carefully behind him.

He walked back through the drafty corridors to the great hall. Upon reaching it, he found that the gaiety had long since ended, with most of the warriors having staggered out to their bed, those that were too drunk to move lying on the straw-strewn floor, snoring loudly. Lukas curled his lip in disgust.

There was no sign of Matthias. Lukas sighed. Turning again, he closed the doors behind him and made his way back up the stairs, this time going to the room he shared with Matthias. Predictably, the Dane was waiting for him, standing staring out of the snow-obscured window. He turned around when he saw Lukas enter.

“Are they all asleep?” he asked. Lukas simply nodded. Without replying, he walked over to the bed and began undressing, replacing the heavy robe and undershirt with a clean white nightgown. All the while, he avoided Matthias’ eyes. Just as he was about to lift the covers, he felt the taller man’s arms lock around him.

“I’m sorry, Nor. I really am. I should have gone to the children, I know. But I have to be there for my men, you know? They need to see me with the king. They need to know we still have power.” His voice was almost pleading.

Lukas stiffened in his arms, then eventually relaxed. He muttered something.

“What?”

Another sigh. “I said I know. You _are_ still Denmark. No one doubts it, you stupid Dane.” _Not your king, not your men, and not me._

Matthias picked up on the unspoken words. He tightened his hold around Lukas, nuzzling into the smaller man’s neck. Lukas, surprisingly, let him.

“It’s too late to argue. I’m sorry. Please, let’s go to sleep?” Matthias mumbled into Lukas’ pale hair. Lukas simply nodded. Matthias let go, allowing Lukas to slip beneath the covers. As Lukas had, Matthias walked over to the fireplace, banking the embers. That done, he walked over to the bed and slipped in, then reached over and snuffed the candles out. 

For once, Lukas did not protest when he drew him close. He fell asleep wrapped in his King’s arms, as the storm outside gradually faded away.


End file.
